Still Here
by NeverMineToHold
Summary: 'When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.' - It's what deputies Grimes and Dixon do, from the false safety of a refugee camp to foxholes in the wilderness... Rated M for language; Canon-AU, Rick/Daryl Slash


Title: "Still Here"

Status: OneShot; complete

Fandom: The Walking Dead

Pairing(s)/Character(s): Daryl Dixon, Rick Grimes

Disclaimer: The Walking Dead belongs to AMC and Robert Kirkman; not mine, no money.

Rating: M

Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Season 1, spoiler-free, H/C, established relationship, slash

Warnings: unbeta'ed, language

Summary: 'When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on.' It's what deputies Grimes and Dixon do, from the false safety of a refugee camp to foxholes in the wilderness...

Note: twd_kinkmeme fill.

Still Here

The gently rolling hill with the flat topside was the best vantage point in the area, exactly what they needed with the herds of geeks pouring out from the surrounding towns. But while its spotty birch grove was good for setting up tripwires as a primitive early alert system, it didn't provide much shelter.

Not that it mattered, Daryl thought wryly. He barely contained the cough that threatened to rattle up his throat. Doesn't look good for us anyways.

Now that gasoline had become useless and cars with it, the group had to carry their dwindling supplies in backpacks all day long, always on the move, feet full of blisters and stomachs empty.

They had met four months ago in Safe Zone No. 24, a refugee camp the government had set up near Atlanta. Hundreds of people milling about when they weren't crammed into small tents, penned in by soldiers with itchy trigger fingers and a 'no comment' as the answer to everything. No information, just high fences and gates that wouldn't open for civilians once they had gone through. Crying could be heard all night long, people worried out of their minds for their loved ones; it had been the first time that Daryl had grabbed Rick's hand and refused to let go.

Then the riots had started, with attacks on the supply trucks, the medical research facility overrun and suddenly the walkers were there, right in their middle, decaying corpses out for fresh meat, the very creatures everyone had refused to believe existed.

Rick and Daryl had somehow managed to gather their little group – Glenn, Dale and T-Dog, Shane and his family, sister's Amy and Andrea, Carol with little Sophia – and shot their way free, saved by blind luck and the foresight to hide their service revolvers. They had fought through the chaos and over the fence, roughed up but without a bite, where they found some cars that were easy to hot wire.

They had been high with adrenaline pumping through their veins, feeling alive and grateful to see another day.

Now they knew better.

Amy and Andrea had been the first to die, ripped apart by walkers. Next they had lost little Sophia in the woods and Carol had blown her brains out in grief. Waste of ammunition.

It was only a matter of time until the next one would drop to rise as a walker and Daryl was so fucking damn tired of shooting their own. The blood on his hands just wouldn't come off and the stench was everywhere, had soaked into his clothes together with stale sweat and dirt.

Daryl hunkered down behind a bush, nicked crossbow at his side, each breath a puff of white that fluttered away with the first snow. The wind battered his face with pins and needles, keeping him on the narrow line between sleep and wakefulness.

The almost-silent crunch of footsteps and twigs catching on a body came up from behind him. He knew that pattern, the hobble gait of a bandaged leg that looked worse every day. He had held Rick down while Dale cauterized the wound, feeling sick with the smell of burning flesh.

"Daryl."

Rick's hand fell heavy on Daryl's shoulder, his warm fingers burning straight through the parka he had picked up in an abandoned house. The touch startled him out of his pleasant stupor, reminding him that he sat here, freezing his ass off, while the sun disappeared behind the horizon. He cursed up a coughing fit that left him light-headed.

He tumbled backwards but his fall was stopped short by Rick's good leg, who pretended to look out over the hill in search of geeks while Daryl tried to catch his breath. A thoughtful gesture, but Daryl didn't figure that he had much face left to save here, not in front of his partner anyways.

"Wh't?!"

"Just wondering what's taking you so long."

Daryl twisted around to scowl up at him. "I don't trust Shane. The guy doesn't care for the group, just for his own shit. Thinks he can do better than us."

Rick grimaced. Daryl couldn't tell if it was his leg acting up or the memory of the last fight he had gotten into with that ex-military asshole. Probably both.

"I know, but he's with Lori and Carl. T-Dog and Glenn are on guard duty. - Come on, you need to rest."

"Right, 'cause foxholes are real good for that."

Daryl grumbled but got up, moving slowly 'cause his stiff muscles were screaming bloody murder after an hour of sitting still. He followed Rick back to the small clearing where they had dug their dirt holes. Snow had begun to collect on the tarps and even over the wind he could hear Dale's damn snoring.

"There's only one blanket left."

"Gave it to Carl again, didn't you?"

Daryl didn't expect an answer and it wasn't worth arguing over anyways.

He had learned that fact on day one, when the brass had thought it smart to partner the redneck rookie with goody two-shoes Rick Grimes. The guy who helped old ladies over the street, all smiling good neighborhood deputy, and rescued kittens from trees.

Would the sheriff have been surprised, Daryl wondered, to see Rick now, transformed into someone who could dish out precision head shots to walkers without batting an eyelash?

Probably not, since he did it to keep their ragtag group alive. Everyone had their limit, though.

He watched as Rick slipped down into the foxhole with jerky awkwardness, trying to protect his injured leg from the rough walls and impact. Standing upright he seemed to have vanished into the earth up to his armpits.

Rick put his rifle away and settled down to grab the ratty piece of cotton that passed for a blanket these days. Having tucked it around himself he held one edge up invitingly. "Come on."

Daryl shouldered his weapon and crossed his arms, "Maybe I should do another round, just to - "

"Daryl...," Rick trailed off and sighed. "Don't make a fuss and get down here."

It was too dark under the trees to make out any details in the white spot that was Rick's upturned face, but his voice had sounded worn thin and ragged. Daryl feared that the thousand-yard stare was back, this haunted look that he would do anything to get rid of if he only knew how. He swallowed his protest and hopped down, then secured the tarp with some stones.

Daryl waited a moment until his eyes could distinct between the darkness and the lighter shadow that was Rick, lying curled up on the frozen ground. He put his crossbow away within reach before he sat down as close to Rick's uninjured side as possible.

"Come here."

Rick tried to pull him closer and Daryl went, resting his head against a bony shoulder. He shivered, his clothes damp with melting snow. What warmth they generated got trapped under the blanket, making the cold bearable once the difference registered.

Daryl burrowed further into Rick's side, forcing him to lift his arm to make room, and then he felt rough stubble and chapped lips brushing his temple.

"Better?"

"Hmm," Daryl hummed. Content for the moment, he grinned. "I know something that would warm us up good."

His human pillow moved with a dry chuckle. "Oh really?"

"Yeah."

Daryl was pretty sure that Rick didn't have the energy for a handjob, much less sex in their tiny foxhole that could only end with both of them getting frozen-stuck to the ground anyways, but it was the thought that counted, right?

It was sorta gratifying that Rick hesitated before he answered, "Another night."

"I'll hold you to that."

"Yeah," Rick murmured and yawned. "You should."

Turned out to be the right call, 'cause a moment later Rick's breathing evened out. Daryl listened to the rhythm; counting.

XXX

Daryl didn't snap awake the following morning like he was used to. Instead he slowly drifted back to consciousness, aware and yet not, lulled in by the warmth that enveloped him. He knew it was Rick's breath that fanned over his skin, which was reason enough to stay put.

Heavy steps came closer to their foxhole and Rick sighed a curse right into Daryl's ear.

"Hey, Sheriff – get out of your hole, we've got a problem."

Shane. Damn it.

"You stay here," Daryl said and got up before Rick could protest.

Would be another long day.

[When you come to the end of your rope, tie a knot and hang on. - Franklin D. Roosevelt]

The End

R&R


End file.
